


Looking for Paradise

by ALiCEonLSD



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Depression, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Kinda AU, M/M, Multiple Sex Partners One Love, Pining, Prostitution, Self-Destruction, Sex Addiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 06:22:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1103459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALiCEonLSD/pseuds/ALiCEonLSD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Stardate 2233.04 in medical shuttle 37, a child is born. The mother is diagnosed with postpartum psychosis.<br/>This is the story about James Tiberius Kirk. About his happiness and joy, about his sadness and sorrow. How he came to be, his hardships, his blessings and how he in the end let himself, for once,  love and be loved in return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Looking for Paradise

**Author's Note:**

> I am a very Swedish Swede who speaks Swedish, and I have not yet a firm grasp of the English language, so be patient with me.

**The Child**

 

The blinds were pulled down in all the rooms, so one could not tell the hours from night or day, morning or evening. A constant smog floated in the air, filling the murky apartment to every nook, along with a nauseating smell of sickness. A smell of weeks old coffee grounds, cigarette butts, spoiled milk and moldy oranges. A smell of dirty linens and underwear. Of gin, human sweat, rage and despair. The child lies awake in the small bed, intertwined with his brother, listening to his mother's rapid footsteps and nervous talking on the other side of the nursery's door.

"...can't take them from me... my babies..."

The brother's slow breaths had become faster. He was awake. The child felt his arms closing around him, hugging him tighter.

"...Leave this place... Rivers... Fra-..."

Silence fell on the other side. Minutes later, the door bursts open and the mother comes in, with a brown, worn coat hanging over her silk night garb and gloves covering her hands.

"Get up, boys. Take only what you need. We're leaving this place."

The child manages to grab his teddy, before he is pushed down the staircases and almost thrown into the hover car along with his brother. They hug tightly as their mother places herself behind the steering wheel, and drives away with a roaring engine.

"Mom, you're driving too fast!" The brother cries out as the vehicle barely makes it around a sharp curve, bordering to a scarp.

"Quiet, dear", comes her snappy response, as she lights a cigarette. The child needs to go to the toilet. Very much. But everytime he tries to tell, all which comes out is incomprehensible stuttering. Because this is a quiet and usually invisible child, who always has been told to "be seen but not heard." People don't like chatty children. Children are merely enviromental accessories - they are to be cuddled and get their cheeks pinched, not to think or talk or have opinions.

"If you don't know how to speak, you're better off not doing it at all!"

Outside the window the Arizona landscape flies by in 160 kilometers an hour. It's almost midnight, but the humid heat clings in the air, making the child's breathing become difficult. It makes him think of the asthma attack he once had. They have driven for a long time before he finally wets himself. The mother has crescents of sweat under her arms, and she almost immidiatly notices the smell of urine.

"You hopeless boy! Why didn't you tell me! You did it on purpose, didn't you!"

The child is very ashamed. He hugs his teddy to his chest and puts his thumb into his mouth, not daring to meet his mother's angry eyes in the rearview mirror. She stops on the side of the road, pulls him out and strips him out of his pyjamas, and throws him in again, nude. His cheeks are flushed pink of embarrasment as he starts to suck his thumb more frantically in a desperate attempt to comfort himself. It is nearly five hundred hours in the morning when they pass the border to New Mexico, followed by Texas and Oklahoma. It's nightfall when they finally stop for rest. Older men in the tavern are eyeing the mother with hazy, lustful gazes, as she pushes the boys forward.

"Whatever happened to the lad's clothes?" one of them hollers. "Get somethin' on him before all the ladies go crazy!"

The child flushes even brighter and hopelessly continues to suck his thumb, clinging to the brother like a castaway to a lifebouy.

"I need a room for myself and my hopeless sons," the mother says loudly. "We have been driving for a very long time, all the way from Phoenix."

"Sure thing, ma'am. But may I ask, why is the little one naked?"

"He behaved naughty, the little rascal. Peed all over himself in the car-" the crowd jeers, and the child wishes he could sink through the floor

"-but it's entirely my own fault, really. I brought him into this world. One can't help being born, huh?" She smiles a false and sugary smile. The child becomes even more ashamed. Of himself, of his mother. He wants to scream and wildly thrash about. _“My mom is sick! She's out of her mind! You have to do something!”_ But he doesn't. Because the said child is quiet, invisible and sometimes seems to be lacking a voice.

"That is true, madam. Here is the key to your room."

 

*:.:*:.:*:.:*:.:*:.:*

 

The trip goes on. The mother has dark circles around her eyes, and she sips scalding coffee (containing a large dose of aspirin) out of a travel mug. They pass a sign which says 'IOWA' written in uppercase letters. Even though a young age, the child knows how to read while his older brother yet doesn't. This isn't a usual child. But no one knows that yet.

After what seemed like a small eternity, the hover car finally comes to halt. A two story house and a large brushy man is there to greet them. The mother turns around and looks at her confused sons with an austere face. "This is our new home. And that is Frank. Your new father."

It is the summer of 2238, in Riverside, Iowa. James Tiberius Kirk is five years old, and has never felt more lost.

 

*:.:*:.:*:.:*:.:*:.:*

 

**The Boy**

 

It is the summer of 2246 when the brother packs his bags to leave for good. Jim feels torn as he watches Sam disappear behind the heat-quivering horizon. Like he had a part of himself ripped out - Sam, his beloved Sam, who was the only reason for staying in this Iowa shithole. And now he has left for Deneva, leaving Jim alone in the hands of their wicked stepfather. Their mother had been hospitalized on Betazed three months ago, suffering " _severe mental instability and postpartum psychosis_." Jim had hacked into their database and read the diagnostic files. A thirteen year delayed postpartum psychosis. He snorts. She would have mourned for Sam, too. With his rye colored hair and hazel eyes, he had always been her favourite. Or at least the one of them who was a bit less unbearable to look at. But James, dishwater blonde with orbs blue, was a reflection and a constant reminder of a this man who was so utterly forbidden to speak of. " _Don't you dare_ ," she had sputtered every time he had tried. " _Don't you dare! You're making it difficult enough as it is_!"

Jim crashes Frank's 65' Chevy Corvette that afternoon. One week later he is sent away to Tarsus IV. And not even motherly love is a strong enough motivator for Winona Kirk nèe Davies to prevent it.

 

*:.:*:.:*:.:*:.:*:.:*

 

Food. There was none. The fungus spread like a wildfire, just like the panic among the colonists. The parents were setting up their children for adoptions in desperate attempts to save them from starvation. And even though little Jim already was thirteen years old, there was a lovely Betazoid couple who were eager to adopt him. They had fallen for his blue eyes. _If you adopt me, I will be the best son ever_ , Jim promised himself, hands clasped in a prayer. He could almost see his new home in front of him, with a garden with trees blossoming with fruit and life... But Winona Kirk nèe Davies puts a stop to that, refusing to sign the adoption papers.

Little Jim had never hated her more than he did then. _She'd rather see my death at the hands of Kodos than in a family with a mother and father who would love me_ , he thinks as he rams his fists into a wall until both the wall and his hands are dripping with scarlet.

No one else requests to adopt him. No – adoptive parents wanted small cubs, infants, or kids who couldn't talk (and therefore had no memories). The other children were left. The broken ones. Those with scars, bruises and eyes glazed with apathy, suggesting they have once been abused by adults and therefore would never forgive.

Little Jim receives a letter not long after,

 

_My boy,_

_I will fight, until the day I die, for what is RIGHTFULLY MINE._

_Signed, YOU KNOW WHO._

 

He gets a job offer only days after that.

 

*:.:*:.:*:.:*:.:*:.:*

 

Pleasure boy.

It was a fairly easy job, if you were adept at closing your eyes and imagining being somewhere else – a skill Jim quickly mastered. If he was lucky, he could even get a dry piece of bread or an apple core before he was sent away, bruises forming on aching flesh, blood trickling from his rear down his legs.

Kevin and Thomas would glance at him with worry the times he came home from work, starting to divide the food into three equal shares. When every bite and chew was a battle due to sore jaw, when swallowing was a torture for his raw throat and when sitting down meant agony.

Both Kevin and Thomas would cry silently as they ate, while trying to ignore the freshly made violet marks on Jim's neck and thighs.

But Little Jim is a good student. And he learned not to cry fast.

 

*:.:*:.:*:.:*:.:*:.:*

 

“What have they done to you, child?” The Starfleet Medical Officer asks and scans Jim for the fourth time. He stares at the unchanged results on the tricorder with a horrified facial expression. “A small boy like you shouldn't have diseases like these.”

“I was a pleasure giver,” Jim explains. “I didn't have any choice. We would have died otherwise.”

The CMO looks like he's ready to vomit. He injects Jim with five different hyposprays before sending him away.

Little did Jim know that these readings would cause the Doctor vile nightmares and two years of therapy, which finally ended in a resignation from Starfleet.

 

*:.:*:.:*:.:*:.:*:.:*

 

**The Repeat Offender**

 

Jim is fifteen when he discovers that his dick has other uses than just for pissing. He also discovers the charm and allure of both girls and boys.

He is back in Riverside, Iowa. Back on the farm, back with Frank. Sam is still on Deneva. Winona Kirk nèe Davies still on Betazed – whatever.

 

*:.:*:.:*:.:*:.:*:.:*

 

Jim finds a cause for living in his hot-wired motorcycle. He falls in love with the explosions of signalsubstances whenever he manages to avoid a crash or a scarp by a hair's breadth, or outclass the police in speed.

Adrenaline junkie, the adolescents call him.

Repeat offender, the adults call him, telling their children to “stay away from that Kirk-kid. He is a bad egg.”

But in the quiet, husbands and wives were also warned to keep their spouses away from Winona and George Kirk's son. You see, there was something alluring about him. Something tempting and mysterious. The young man was an Adonis at best, with the same handsome features and silver tongue like his notorious hero-father.

But boy, did he behave like his mama.

 

*:.:*:.:*:.:*:.:*:.:*

 

Frank caught him in action once. Jim, then seventeen years of age, had the neighbors' nineteen year old son bent over an old, rusty wood processor, fucking him rapidly and soundly from behind with pants around their ankles.

“So you like dick, you little queer?” Frank had snarled when Jim came home that night, forcing his head to his groin.

Afterwards, Jim stuck his fingers down his throat and puked until only bile came up.

 

*:.:*:.:*:.:*:.:*:.:*

 

Jim is all of twenty-two when he stumbles into that bar. What should be the best point of a person's life has become Jim's personal hell, his cage, his prison. He does not plan to see 30. Hell, he's lucky if he lives long enough to see 25. _His father's brilliant mind and intellect. His mother's lack of motivation and poor behavior_ , people tell him – whatever. He plans to live fast and die young, so he plays the game he knows the best. Flirts with a hot chick, makes inappropriate pick-up lines. Gets into a fight and ends up with a roughed-up jaw and a nose pouring like a Christmas decorated faucet.

A regular friday night so far for Jim Kirk.

What makes it stand out is that George Kirk's old fellow officer, who tells him the trite story about his father's heroism all over again, the story which has incused his whole life.

 

“ _I dare you to do better.”_

 

Well, Jim has always been a sucker for challenges.

 

*:.:*:.:*:.:*:.:*:.:*

 

**The Cadet**

 

“You're a sex addict, you know that, right?” Bones says a Saturday morning when Jim sneaks into their shared dorm, after a night spent with another one-night stand. Jim shrugs.

“I guess. I've always been this way, ever since I discovered the multiple functions of my dick.”

“It's not healthy.”

“Well. I figured having sex is a better addiction than shooting heroin.”

They don't talk about that topic again for a long time.

 

*:.:*:.:*:.:*:.:*:.:*

 

Jim quickly masters the art of putting on façades. He would joke, laugh and fool around with his classmates but on the inside he hid the thousand tears of a clown.

No one could see through his Jester veneer, his comedian exterior.

Besides Bones.

*:.:*:.:*:.:*:.:*:.:*

 

Jim finds consolation in Gaila Vro.

She would sneak into his bed at nights, and everytime he would fuck her good and proper, pushing the bed's limits to the outmost.

Bones would groan in annoyance, mutter something about integrity and lack of respect, before stumbling out of the room to have one of his very rare, sacred and secret cigarettes. Smoking for a doctor is a solid and assured ticket to the flunk-medical train.

 

*:.:*:.:*:.:*:.:*:.:*

 

When he sees the Vulcan for the first time, his whole world comes to a halt for a second.

 

*:.:*:.:*:.:*:.:*:.:*

 

S'chn T'gai Spock kills him. _Kills_ him.

So Jim drinks, steals out of Leonard's secret cigarette stash, plays poker, wins, loses, gains and drops. He fucks a lot, too. Pulls every goddamn ace he has in order to keep the Vulcan out of his head, making it spin faster than the wheels on his hot-wired motorcycle.

 

The guy is sex on legs. (Even more than Bones, and Jim has spent three years staring on his backside, wondering how it would look covered in vertical marks made by his fingernails.)

Spock, in his clean-cut uniform ironed rigid and bangs spit-shined immaculate is enough to make Jim crazy with desire, making him want to bring the illogic out of him on every horizontal surface.

 

*:.:*:.:*:.:*:.:*:.:*

 

**The Captain**

 

On the duration of one month, Spock has turned down seventeen requests to meet up for a drink.

But if it is one thing Jim is known for, it is his stubbornness.

So, when he has a Zeppelin fly around Starfleet HQ for a couple of hours with a 44 yard long banner which read _SPOCK, HAVE A DRINK WITH ME_ in Vulcan scripture, perhaps it was a bit overkill. “ _A cheap trick_ ”, some called it. “ _Totally romantic_ ”, others claimed.

 

But that evening, Spock finally agreed.

 

*:.:*:.:*:.:*:.:*:.:*

 

Twelve drinks and seven dates later, they kiss for the first time. Spock tastes of heat, spice and desert sun. Nothing is tentative anymore. Hands groping under clothing, wet kisses on flushed skin. Rose against sage. Cool against hot. Small explosions of signalsubstances from his cerebral cortex. Breathing becoming rapid, blood vessels dilating, their corpora cavernosa swelling.

When Spock slides into him for the first time, Jim nearly becomes undone on the spot. He clings onto Spock as he sets a fast rhythm, whispering promises and declarations into his neck, feeling his lover's quick heartbeat on the inside of his ribs.

“ _T'hy'la_ ,” Spock whispers into his ear as he releases himself inside of Jim.

 

*:.:*:.:*:.:*:.:*:.:*

 

When Jim for the first time told Bones about Tarsus, he started to cry. Jim had sat and helplessly watched his best friend weep like an infant, unsure what to do.

Spock's reaction was different. It was during a meld, when Jim suddenly felt his lover's mind-landscape become clowdy, thundering with uncontrollable rage, wrath throbbing through their marital bond, almost making his head physically ache.

 

It was Spock who hunted Kodos down and brought him to justice.

 

*:.:*:.:*:.:*:.:*:.:*

 

Jim didn't plan to see 30.

Now he plans to see 80, 90, hell, perhaps even 100.

 

As long as he has Spock by his side, it will all be well.


End file.
